


Unicorn

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:45:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5733421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yavanna brings Nienna a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: For [the group read of the Silmarillion](http://silmread.tumblr.com/) happening on tumblr right now. We’re on the first chapter of the Quenta Silmarillion, so this is what that chapter inspired in me. (Feel free to jump in!)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Silmarillion or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Each time she comes, she hopes it will be different, but it never is. The wide doors part for her, she drifts across the halls, the lanterns glitter at her passing but the darkness stays thick, its hold strong. The doors fall shut behind her, and Yavanna hesitates, wondering if anyone will come for her. They don’t. So she continues on her own, down one twisted corridor after the next, over polished tile, past elaborate columns, and out into the open court where her treasure always waits. Through the tall windows, the light is dim, the sounds of the sea not so far away.

And Nienna sits in her throne. It’s a chair wrought from Aulë’s own hands, meant for a queen but treated like any other furniture; Nienna pretends to be queen of nothing. Her gaze falls from the windows to Yavanna’s approach, and Yavanna, despite all her hopes, has the same view as always: Nienna’s handsome face streaked down the sides with tears.

 _It is the way I am_ , she’s said, as though that makes it any better, the sorrow poignant but accepted. Yavanna sweeps forward like she’s drawn to it. Nienna’s lips part. They frown: _they always frown._ Until Yavanna comes, sometimes, for just a moment.

When Yavanna reaches the chair at the back wall, painted like the water, Nienna moves to rise. But Yavanna bids her down, places one dark hand over her pale skin and leads it back. Nienna sinks into her seat, all grey robes and tumbling hair. Yavanna lowers to her knees, rich skirts their own cushion. At Nienna’s feet, Yavanna looks up into her eyes, places both hands on her thickly covered lap, and greets sweetly, “It is good to see you.”

“You always say that,” Nienna sighs. Her face tilts, one straggled black strand falling across her cheek. Her thin brows knit together, and she murmurs, “Yet it cannot always be true—”

“It is,” Yavanna says. Blunt, final. She lifts a hand to silence more and retreats the other into the pouch she’s brought strung at her side, brown as the earth to match her leaf-green robes. Inside she carries seeds. She pulls one free to present in her palm: a large, black oval that cracks all down the side. Nienna’s white eyes light up the way they always do when Yavanna brings her gifts, at least, _these kinds_ of gifts that are, in a way, a part of Yavanna herself.

The seed peels open under Nienna’s intense watch, tiny emerald tendrils snaking out to curl in the air, twisting higher, budding along their course to spring into lengthy leaves. Nienna’s breath catches, the vines reaching higher, and at an arm’s length, they sprout into bloom, growing silver-gold petals like the greatest triumph Yavanna and Nienna ever had. 

“I devised this,” Yavanna explains, quiet in the hush of Nienna’s awe, “at first in honour of the way you make me feel, but the results seemed so very _you_ that I could not keep them for myself. Like they grow in my gardens, I would like them to grow in your halls.”

The only things of life in Nienna’s halls, besides their mistress herself, are the plants that Yavanna’s brought. Nienna accepts each one with a strange reverence. Her hands reach out, almost shaking, like she fears death will come to it on her touch. But Yavanna slips the seed forward into Nienna’s lap, and it blossoms all the stronger. 

“It is beautiful,” Nienna breathes, eyes wide and shining: the tears have stopped. 

Yavanna answers, “Like its new keeper.” And she rises back to her feet, only to lean forward and slip her fingers along Nienna’s cold cheek. She presses her lips to Nienna’s forehead in a chaste, adoring kiss: she comes with presents in her arms but sentiment in every other part of her body. As Yavanna pulls away, Nienna’s eyes have fluttered closed, her long fingers caressing the silken stalks.

And, as she always does when Yavanna brings _love_ , Nienna finally _smiles_.


End file.
